


Voices in the Night

by Greysgate



Series: A Journey Through Night [2]
Category: The Pretender (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: Jarod hunts for a child-killer while searching for a way to get his girlfriend out of the Centre.





	Voices in the Night

_Where is she?_  

Jarod waited interminable seconds for the reply to appear on the screen of his laptop computer. He did not often tap into the Centre's system, only in cases where he needed information, and then only after securing his line by bouncing the signal halfway across the world and leaving false electronic trails, because they would be searching for him, alert to unauthorized taps and monitoring all incoming messages. And every time he made contact he put the person on the other end of the line in jeopardy, taking a chance on getting them caught. But he had to know what had happened to Athena Morgan, the failed Pretender who had helped him escape Miss Parker almost two months earlier. He had hardly slept since he left her behind.

 _ **In Maximum**_ **,** came the reply at last. **_But she isn't well. They may put her in the_ ****_Infirmary soon._**

Jarod's fingers hovered above the keyboard for a moment, his heart twisting painfully inside his chest.

 _Can you get her a message?_ he asked through the connection.

_**Not sure.** _

_Give her the e-mail address. Please?_

After a long pause, the contact queried, _**Can you trust her after all this?**_

 _With my life,_ Jarod replied quickly. _See that she knows how to contact me, in case_ _she gets the chance. And thank you. All of you. Signing off. J._ He terminated the connection when he was sure there would be no more transmissions from the other end, and shut the computer down. Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he thought about Athena and wondered what her illness might be, afraid that he already knew.

He couldn't leave her there, couldn't let the Centre keep her. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that she had been part of a plot to capture him, that she had been told to turn him in if she saw him, and for a little while he believed she might have been actively hunting him. But he had done some telephone investigating after leaving Nashville and discovered that she had been working at the hospital for almost two years, just as she had told him. His happening across her had been an accident of fate, one that changed his life forever.

With Athena he had learned to open himself and enjoy the special attention she lavished on him. With her he had learned what it was to be a man, to be loved without reservation or regret. With Athena he had come of age and willingly gave up a significant measure of his innocence while he took hers as well. They were lovers, and because of that love, a part of him might even now be growing beneath her heart.

The thought elated him, terrified him, sickened him. He could think of no greater joy than raising a family with Athena, but he couldn't reach her. The responsibilities of fatherhood made him tremble with fear, but he would gladly have embraced them, only he could not. Because Athena was lost in the Centre, held prisoner by the Tower, simply because he loved her. If he wanted her enough, he would return there on his own, clinging to the slender hope that he might be permitted to see her now and then. But if Sydney expected to keep him focused on the tasks they set him, he knew that would never be allowed. And if they ever got him back they would make sure that he never got out again.

He laid his head down on the scarred wooden table in the kitchen of his new apartment in Dallas, closed his eyes and tried desperately to hold on to his heart. There were things to do, useful things that would help people and make payments on the penance he had set for himself, but all he could think about was that he had left her behind. He should have taken her hand and brought her with him, but someone needed to stay behind and stall Parker. Someone needed to make sure her pistol didn't go off in his general direction.

Both of them knew that, and both had accepted the parting of ways long before it came about. There was nothing he could do for Athena. At least, not now. And she wanted him to continue his work. Jarod was certain of that.

A memory blossomed in his thoughts, soft as rose petals, and he could hear the ghost of her laughter in his ears.

"Time to get up," she had said as they lay together in her bed. The memory eased his broken heart, and he sat up again, turning his eyes to the newspaper clippings strewn around the table, preparing them for inclusion in the red notebook he was starting.  

"Yes, ma'am," he said to the memory, and felt the warmth of her love envelop him and ease the pain. He studied the photograph on the front page of the newspaper, his fingertips touching the rough surface of the paper as if he might make some connection to the little boy smiling out of the ink.

 ** _CHILD ABDUCTED_** , the huge headline read above the boy's head. Justin Raster had been walking to the neighborhood convenience store half a block from his home when a man had snatched him off the sidewalk and driven away with him. For a week there was nothing, and then the boy's body was found after a heavy rain in a drainage ditch. One year later the whole of north Texas was still stunned by the incident, and by the fact that not a single arrest had been made, even with the presence of a huge task force aided by the FBI. There was evidence enough to make a case if the culprit was ever caught, but not enough to point to a trace of identity, and the frustration of police and the media concerning the case was palpable. But Jarod had a plan to flush the monster out, providing the killer was still in the area. A copy of the FBI's character profile told him chances were good that the man was watching all the media coverage and secretly congratulating himself on getting away with murder, and the Pretender was counting on that heavily.

Jarod stared at the photograph, taking note of the boy's short black hair and brown eyes, so like his own. Justin had dimples in his smile, and a tiny scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was only ten years old when he'd died, not yet old enough for the spaces between his new adult teeth to have closed as new ones grew into place. And someone had grabbed the boy, kicking and screaming for help, and taken him away to darkness, fear and death.

What had Jarod's own parents been told? he wondered. Had they seen the body of some other small child wearing his clothes, the face obliterated to make the corpse unrecognizable, in order to convince them that they would never get him back? Had he simply been snatched after the testing was over? He couldn't remember. There were gaps in his early memories that kept too much of his past inaccessible, and without the aid of the DSA discs he would not know as much as he did. Sometimes it was as if he was looking in on someone else's life rather than his own when he watched those simulation recordings, and he wondered what sort of brainwashing or programming they had done to him when he was too young to understand what was happening.

The Centre had taken his life away from him, and he guessed it had not been a gentle process, either for him or for his family. He felt a particular empathy for little Justin, and if there was a way to help find his killer, then he would pursue it to the ends of the earth. On the far end of the table a small portable stereo sat waiting, and Jarod switched it on, listening to the pattern of speech and music the radio stations broadcast, learning what mixes were acceptable, hooking into what made people listen and got their attention, and formulating a plan.

 

Athena sat on the Shaker bench in her room, staring out through the shatterproof glass at the ocean. She did not take notice of the wire filaments woven through the glass that acted both as reinforcement and electronic sensor, but she knew that it was there. The minor obstructions did not obscure her view, for she was not looking at the gray waves lapping at the rocky shore or the leaden sky preparing to weep on the New England countryside. She saw instead a gentle smile, wide shoulders and a soft carpet of dark, crisp hair shadowing a powerfully made chest. She did not hear the bleak wind moaning over the rocks beneath her upstairs room, but listened instead to a baritone voice whispering her name on the heels of a declaration of love. The chill in the room did not touch her through her surgical greens, the uniform of all prisoners in the Centre Maximum Security wing, for she was wrapped in a blanket of leftover passion that would burn in her heart for eons to come. She was smiling, and nothing they had done to her could take her quiet joy away.

In the two months since she arrived at the Centre she had been afraid of settling in, of allowing herself to get too comfortable in her surroundings, such as they were. Maximum Security lay at the bottom of the subterranean rooms comprising the Centre's best kept secrets, though there were a few rooms in the tall, square tower that were reserved for special guests. She had been moved there the week before when she first fell ill, as a measure of isolation to keep her from infecting the other denizens of Maximum when it was suspected that she might have the 'flu. But Centre doctors had taken blood samples for a variety of tests, and the housekeeping staff would also have reported that she had not had her period since she arrived. Athena knew within weeks that she was carrying Jarod's baby, but that wasn't something she could admit to anyone. Not in _that_ place.

A click of gears and a brief whine of an electric buzzer made her turn toward the door to see who was coming to visit her. When Miss Parker entered, the door locked into place behind her and the heavy metal clink that followed assured them both that they would not be interrupted.

"Well, well," Miss Parker smiled in greeting. "Look what we have here. The bird is back in her gilded cage. Are these accommodations more what you expected, Athena?"

The blonde turned her gaze back to the window and leaned against the welded steel window frame. "You can't stand it, can you, Parker?" Athena asked smoothly.

Parker frowned, glaring at the other woman. "Can't stand what?"

"To see someone else being happy." Without looking she knew she had struck a nerve, just from the temperature of the room. "You can't take it away from me, no matter how isolated you keep me. I don't care what you do to me, and that leaves you powerless. I know how it feels not to be in control of your life. So does Jarod. And no matter how much power you wield within these walls, you're every bit as helpless as the rest of us who live here. You just can't admit it."

"Oh, but you're wrong," Parker gushed sweetly. "I think all this between you and Jarod is just... swell! Two little children pretending at being in love. How charming."

Athena's smile did not fade, and a knowing gleam flickered in her bright blue eyes.  "We may seem like children to you, Parker, but I've been out in the world for years, and Jarod's growing up fast. We know what we feel is honest and real. Pity you've never tried it."

"How would _you_ know?" demanded Parker. "You don't know anything about me. Except perhaps the unfounded rumors that seem to travel through this place like a disease."

For a moment the former Pretender continued to gaze out the window, but with a light sigh she faced her adversary and delivered a telling blow. "You forget what I am," she said softly. "What your people trained me to be. I can see through you as if you were an aquarium, all sharp edges and steel reinforcements and carnivorous things floating around aimlessly inside. It's a pretty package, but nothing human can live in it." She paused, making sure the redhead's attention was fixed squarely on her. "Jarod knows what you need. I can see it, too, but I'm not as generous as he is. And you keep turning away from the gifts he's trying to give you."

Parker's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Someone has a very big mouth," she declared frostily. "And if I have to keep you in total isolation and put you under 24 hour surveillance to find out who it is, I'll do it. You freaks of nature should learn to keep your minds in a box and do your jobs only when required."

"Like Angelo?" Athena smiled.

The redhead was startled. "How do you know about Angelo?" she demanded. "He's been under wraps from almost everyone except the Tower since he first arrived."

Athena chuckled softly. "The walls have ears, Miss Parker," she said mysteriously. Suddenly her smile vanished and her eyes rolled closed. Stumbling, trembling, she headed for the tiny partitioned corner of the sterile room to the toilet, fell to her knees and began to heave.

"Have fun," Parker snarled, and pivoted on her heel to leave. "Oh, and by the way, I just heard the results of your pregnancy test came back positive. I'm sure Sydney will be looking forward to raising the first offspring of two trained Pretenders.  Chances are, with your lineage and Jarod's brilliance, the little monster may be better than either of you." She let that dangle in the air between them.

Athena gripped the cold, clean sides of the toilet bowl, not daring to look away from the watery opening beneath her face. "This isn't Jarod's baby," she gasped. With a handy, damp washcloth, she wiped her face for a little relief from the surging nausea.  "You didn't do your homework, Parker. I had a boyfriend in Nashville. An intern at the hospital, Dan Robinson. He can give you dates, places and everything, every time we slept together. Jarod never touched me."

Parker laughed softly, her hand on the door handle, motioning to the guard through the safety glass porthole in the reinforced steel door to open it for her. "I was at the dance studio," she reminded the other woman. "I know what you two were doing when we walked in on you. I have a nose for such things."

Slowly, Athena rose to her feet, a triumphant smile trembling on her lips. "We were about to. But we didn't get a chance to finish."

The redhead shrugged. "That's easy enough to say now, but we have DNA charts and blood samples from Jarod in storage. A paternity test after the baby's born will sort it all out for us." She laughed again, darkly. "Sleep on _that_ little sugarplum, sweetie."

"Choke on it, Parker," murmured the blonde. She sat down on her neatly made twin bed near the window and smiled to herself. Touching her flat, taut belly affectionately, she made a silent vow and began to work on the simulation in her mind. The test results had been verified the day before and someone had contacted her to ask her a most important question, someone who was risking not only employment but life in querying her.

"Yes," she had answered instantly. "I want out. I know what they'll do to my baby if I stay."

 

Sharon Moody didn't even glance at the resume on the desk before her. She let her eyes devour the tall, dark, handsome man with the Julius Caesar haircut, her ears soothed by the smooth baritone of his voice, delighting in the perfect enunciation of his words. "We've heard your demo tape, Mr. Marconi, and we like your style," she told him when he finished his list of reasons why KARW Radio should hire him for the most recently vacated position of late night DJ. "I'm not sure about your persona name, though. Someone might get a laugh out of Marconi on the radio. I'm thinking about starting you out as the Night Man. What do you think about that?"

"Well, J.R. Marconi, the Night Man would probably be best, actually," he returned easily, steepling his fingers together in a thoughtful pose as he considered the Programming Director's suggestion. "I can use the Night Man more often, but for those listeners who want to call me by name when they call in, they can use J.R." He grinned, realizing from her body language that she was attracted to him. He had seen that look on Athena's face whenever she wanted intimacy, and understood much more about the unspoken signals between the sexes than he had before her.

"It's so 'Dallas', anyway," she agreed with a leer. "I guess you just belong here in the Metroplex. So we're agreed, then, J.R. When can you start?"

He rose and stepped forward to shake the woman's hand across her desk. "I'm currently unemployed, so anytime's fine with me," he assured her.

"Well, then, see you at 7 pm. I'd like to get you broken in with the guy on the previous shift before we turn you loose on your own show. You'll be on from 8 to 11 pm, and I'm really looking forward to what you have to offer." She let her eyes drift blatantly downward, then back up to his face. "And if you want someone to show you around town, be sure to give me a call."

"I'm usually pretty good at finding my own way," he assured her, pulling his hand gently out of her clinging grasp. "But I'll keep that in mind."

Ms. Moody frowned. "You're not... um, gay, are you, J.R.?" she asked hesitantly.

His smile melted as he was instantly reminded of other, very painful things. "Not at the moment," he answered solemnly. "But I'm sure that will change eventually."

He took his leave of her then, unaware of the confusion on her face as she tried to decipher that last remark.

At 7:55 pm he sat in the soundproof booth looking out over the city of Las Colinas on the outskirts of Dallas, headphones on his ears and fingers hovering over the multitude of buttons and toggle switches and mixing boards, and leaned into the microphone for his first greeting as a disc jockey.

"Hello, Dallas/Fort Worth. This is J.R. Marconi, the Night Man, on station KARW 99.7 on your FM dial," he intoned. "Home of no-nonsense classic rock. We play the best of the 70's and 80's with a little 60's and 90's stirred in to spice up the mix.  First up for your listening pleasure is a musical message for everyone who's ever been in love. See if you can figure out what it is."

Jarod watched his producer start the music selection on the schedule and glanced up at the telephone screener on the far side of the glass partition, outside the booth. He gave a casual salute to the twenty-something man and Jeffrey Adams smiled back, giving him a thumbs-up. Three tracks played without a break between, and when the last one had finished, he took a call that Jeffrey sent in for him.

"Hey, man, didn't Marconi invent the radio?" asked the caller.

"Very good, but that wasn't the answer I was looking for," Jarod smiled. "The underlying message in all three of those songs was not to take love for granted. It's the most precious commodity we have in our lives, and all too often we have to lose it before we realize how important it really is. Remember that, folks. If you love someone, let them know it." He munched a few Pez and bent his new Gumby figurine so the green rubber man held onto the microphone in between tasks. "And now I'd like to introduce a new feature for this station that's been a part of my act for years. I like to call them the Minute Mysteries, and you play the game like this: I read a scenario that is a solvable mystery and you figure it out. The first caller who gets it right wins two tickets to the Peter Gabriel concert next weekend at Starplex. I hope you're all listening, because the answer is in the details."

He recited the short story from memory, then shut off the microphone and made a short trip to the lounge for a bottle of water from the vending machine. An hour later no one had guessed the answer yet, though the phone console stayed lit up the entire time. After giving the answer himself, he offered another, simpler mystery, and gave the tickets away to the third caller. By the time he finished his shift he had taken a call from Sharon Moody congratulating him on an excellent first show. He'd also spoken to the mayor, who had a fondness for classic rock and mysteries, and promised to be a regular listener.

Jarod Marconi decided he just might make it in radio for the few weeks he planned to be in the area. The time he had spent researching decades of popular music had paid off handsomely, but there was still a lot to learn. He decided to stick with the music he knew and not talk about anything he hadn't investigated personally.

The next afternoon he discovered The Studios at Las Colinas, a motion picture studio where the television series _Walker, Texas Ranger_ had been filmed, and decided to go for a tour. He left the studios smiling, with the business card of one Donna Marlow in the breast pocket of his black T-shirt. The woman would be of great use to him later on, and he would spend as much time as necessary cultivating a relationship with her. After that he visited several of the major hospitals looking for just the right candidate to help him rescue Athena, but did not find what he needed right away. The process was complicated and timing would be critical; it might even require him to drop the Raster project before its completion, but Athena was far more important to him personally than the project that had brought him to Dallas in the first place. Justin Raster deserved justice, and his family deserved peace, but if there was even the most gossamer chance that his other plan could succeed, he would take it as soon as the opportunity arose.

That evening Sharon Moody approached him just prior to his shift with a problem she wanted to discuss with him in the conference room. She laid a computer printout several pages thick on the table in front of Jarod. "This is our play list," she said casually. "Station policy is not to deviate from this list. These songs have been rated as the most popular, most played songs in the last four decades. I want you to stick to the list... unless, of course, you can give me some persuasive reason why you added that 'Undiscovered Song' to the close of your program last night." She leaned forward on her elbows on the table across from Jarod, giving him ample view of her cleavage.

He thought immediately of Miss Parker and smiled, avoiding the glimpse of her body that she offered. "It's all part of the element of mystery," he explained. "I never introduce the artist or give the album or song title. They're all recognized artists and the albums are classics; it's just that no one has heard those tracks played on the radio. I'm trying to get people to think about things they never noticed before. And I only play the Undiscovered Song once."

"Policy is still policy," Sharon stressed, gazing at him from beneath seductively lowered lashes. "Unless you... impress upon me... the importance of having the song on your show."

Jarod studied her for a moment, noting her posture, the way she ran the pencil in her right hand slowly back and forth between the fingers of her left. That reminded him of something else, something painfully beautiful, and realization dawned on him. "Oh, you want sex!" he concluded brightly. "I'm sorry, Ms. Moody. I'm kind of new to that."

Her face flooded with color beneath her makeup and she sat up straight, glancing about for something to save her a modicum of dignity, but nothing came to mind. "Why, no, J.R., I--"

"My last girlfriend dumped me because I wasn't very good at it," he lied merrily. "But I'm sure I'll get better with practice. I'm doing these exercises--"

"Oh, Well... J.R., um, that's nice, but I..." She was looking at the papers she had brought into the meeting, trying to avoid his eyes.

He knew he had her off balance and seized the moment. "So you don't have a problem with my playing unknown album cuts to close my show, then?" he asked innocently.

"No, not at all," the programming director agreed, and stood up with papers and pencil in hand, a harried, desperate grimace sliding across her face. "That'll be just fine, J.R. Break a leg."

"Excuse me?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her ill wish.

"Old showbiz tradition," Sharon mumbled. "Never wish a performer good luck before going on. 'Break a leg' is the traditional show of support."

"Oh. Thank you, Ms. Moody," Jarod said brightly, and opened the conference room door for her to end the meeting. She darted away and down the hall, and Jarod headed for the booth with a broad smile on his face, wondering why bad luck was good luck in the entertainment industry. There was still so much to learn about people, and he loved all the little tidbits of information he collected in moments like that.

Two weeks later the Night Man held the number one spot for evening radio in the Metroplex, boasting the largest listening audience for any program in the city. Station management was thrilled with his performance and wanted to photograph him for inclusion on the station's website, as well as for an article for the Dallas newspaper that wanted to do a story on his phenomenal success. But J.R. Marconi insisted on keeping his appearance a mystery to enhance the tone of the program, and even started wearing hats and dark glasses when on duty in the studio. His audience loved it, and the games he played with them were the talk of the town.

In another week he began decorating the booth with a series of items that none of the other employees could fathom, but left intact and undisturbed. On a small table beside the console he placed a chess set, one of the cheap plastic kind that only beginning players ever bought. He installed a voice synthesizer onto the incoming telephone lines, and began experimenting with that just to introduce it to his listeners, and how effective it was in making a voice unrecognizable. On a cork board that he kept out of the way in a corner, he tacked a map of the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, and placed two tiny pin markers in the Bedford area, one of the smaller communities that lay in between the two major cities. One marked the intersection near where Justin Raster was kidnapped, and the other where his body had been found. And when he was ready, he began to carry a black leather briefcase into the booth with him for his shows, which he would always close whenever anyone came in to speak to him when he was off the air for a moment. He began to drop hints to his listeners that he had the biggest mystery of all to play with them, and tantalized them with generalized clues that gave no hint of what was to come, until he had everything in place.

It was raining that muggy May evening when he started his shift, and after a darkly poetic greeting he announced that he would be playing the Undiscovered Song first, rather than last, as an introduction to the new Mystery he offered. He picked up the _Sur La_ _Mer_ CD from the Moody Blues and played _Breaking Point_ , which had been written as a theme for a horror movie and then withdrawn from consideration by the band.  It was a chilling tune in a minor key filled with paranoia and nightmares and fear, a perfect introduction to the task he had set for himself. And when the song had finished, he allowed a moment of silence to follow before he spoke again.

"Everyone is born equal," he began, "or so we Americans like to think. There are those who may be endowed with talents that have a genetic source, but in the beginning we're all blank slates, ready for the world to write on. Sometimes the stories of our lives are written in vibrant colors that inspire everyone who reads a page or two. Other times, pages are torn out, crumpled up and thrown away, pages that should have had important instructions written on them, like, 'Thou shalt not kill.' But when you look at the guy who works across the office from you, that isn't always apparent." He picked up one of the black pawns from the chessboard and twirled it slowly between his fingers, thinking as he spoke. "The guy who keeps his yard so beautifully maintained may have a basement full of assault weapons, or the woman so cheerfully running the booster club may be hiring a hit man to murder her daughter's rival on the cheer-leading squad.  Sometimes it's even more sinister than that... like the respected businessman, the pillar of the community, who molests his beautiful little daughter, knowing she will never tell anyone how he hurts her, because she loves him so much."

He put the pawn down and turned his gaze out the window to the low gray clouds and sheets of rain slowly giving way to the sunset, and darkness. "Somewhere out there, are people who have committed terrible crimes, and for one reason or another, have not been caught. No one even knows who they are. But you do, if you're one of them." He put on another song, an instrumental by Carlos Santana just right to enhance the mood of his words. "You've been watching the police and the newspapers prowl aimlessly around, getting no closer to you, and slowly the fear of being caught ebbs away. Now you feel almost triumphant, like you've accomplished something, only you can't tell anyone. No one knows it's you that did the deed, and they probably never will... You can't talk about it at all... unless you want to talk to me."

This was his ace card, the bait that he hoped would draw one dangerous man into a game that Jarod played to win. He let the song finish and picked right up again.

"Tonight, and for as long as the public wishes, I'd like to issue an invitation to those of you out there who have secrets, really big secrets, to call in and get it off your chest. I promise the lines won't be tapped, the police won't make any traces, and we'll use the voice synthesizer to disguise your call so no one will be able to identify you that way. You'll have complete anonymity. Male callers will be identified as John, and female callers will be Jane. If you want to confess without risk of capture, call in and unload. Even if it's something simple like cheating on your spouse. But remember, folks, you'll probably be put on the air, so try not to be too graphic in your descriptions and don't use those taboo words that will get me in trouble. I _like_ this job, and want to keep it for a while." He glanced up at Jeffrey Adams, sitting on the far side of the glass in the sound booth. The young man was white-faced and keyed in a short description of the call he had on hold, which relayed to the monitor in the broadcasting booth. Jarod nodded.

It wasn't the caller he had hoped for, but if word got around about the show tonight, he might get lucky later on. The profile indicated Justin's killer enjoyed the risk of publicity. That was why he had taken the boy in such a violent, open manner, rather than using a more discreet lure as most pedophiles did. He enjoyed watching his hunters fumble in the darkness, and that was what Jarod would use to draw him close enough to touch. Any other calls he might answer along the way would be practice for the one that had brought him south.

He took the call.

"You've got a great eye for color," said Donna Marlow as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. "This is the best makeup job I've ever had done on me. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was at least 70 years old. Well done, Jarod. You learn fast."

"I had a great teacher," he reminded her, modestly deflecting the praise. "I don't know why you don't go to work in Hollywood. There's a much bigger market for your skills out there."

Donna shrugged, admiring the subtle blend of artificially applied skin tones, liver spots and painted-on wrinkles that gave her a good idea what she would look like in another two or three decades. "I don't want to be there when the San Andreas goes," she replied simply. "I _hate_ earthquakes. Texas is just fine for me, even if I am under-appreciated for my talents." She pulled off the gray-streaked white wig that Jarod had styled for her and unpinned her natural brown locks, shaking the long tresses loose about her shoulders again.

"Where is the San Andreas going?" he asked innocently.

The woman chuckled lightly. "Into the ocean along with about half of the state, or haven't you heard?" she teased him. "I don't know what to think about you, Jarod. Sometimes you sound like there's nothing you don't know and other times you're oblivious to the most simple stuff. You should listen to that radio program on KARW, the Night Man. He picks up on the littlest things that you might think are completely unimportant, and then tells you things you never thought anyone could guess. He's a real Sherlock Holmes. I hear he's even talked a few criminals into turning themselves in." Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "In fact, you sound a whole lot like him."

"Come on. If I had a job as a radio personality, what would I be doing here, trying to learn stage makeup?" he asked coolly. "Those guys make good money, don't they? Better than what I earn now as a police dispatcher, which I'm doing just to get me through until I can get some experience with this. I aim to rub elbows with the stars one day, Donna."

She shrugged off her suspicion lightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. What was I thinking?"

"Probably that you were hungry," he suggested. "How about if I clean up here while you go scrub your face, and then we can go to the West End for some supper. My treat."

"Or I could put the wig back on and pretend I'm your mother," she offered with a grin. "I always wanted to be an actress, deep down. Just never could remember lines."

"I've still got to clean up," he insisted. "An artist takes good care of his tools, remember? That's the first thing you taught me."

"All right, Jarod, but you know it's going to take me a good while, since I have to put my regular face back on once I've got the years washed off," she reminded him. "I might be close to an hour."

"I've got time," he said easily, and started closing the various pots of colored base and replacing them in his brand new makeup kit. "Say, if I wanted to do something more complicated, maybe working with latex appliances, could you teach me that, too?"

Donna started rubbing a thick coat of cold cream on her forehead to remove the shaded base that Jarod had applied to age her. "Sure thing, babe," she answered casually. "But it's a pain in the ass to do it right and you'll owe me a lobster dinner after you graduate."

"No problem," he grinned. "Anything for my favorite teacher."

She wandered off to the bathroom to do a thorough cleaning on her face and hands, and Jarod continued to put away his materials and clean the various brushes and palettes he had used to alter Donna's appearance. He thought about his plan and felt his insides grow cold and twisted. It was madness to think of going back to the Centre, of the risk he would be taking, but he couldn't leave Athena there. The Underground had told him she wanted out and they were moving toward helping her do just that, but they might not be able free her before the Tower sent her back to Maximum. Mrs. Parker's legacy still operated silently in the shadows of the Centre, returning some of the youngest children to their families and relocating them so the Centre couldn't find them again, and the Underground had been instrumental in his own escape, but each time they interfered in the Centre's plans someone among them disappeared.

He was terrified, both for himself and for Athena. But if he had to die to get her out, he was more than willing. He would not have a child of his grow up in that place, not if he could prevent it. And if the Underground couldn't help her, he would find a way to do it himself. Donna Marlow was on the way to teaching him to do just that.

 

Athena lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and smiling. She saw Sydney coming down the aisle between the infirmary cots and sat up slowly to greet him. Nausea made her sluggish, even in small movements like brushing a lock of hair back from her face.

"Hi, Pops," she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "Come to see me at last, eh?"

He was beaming. "Irreverent, as you always were, Athena. I just heard the news, and I must say I don't know whether to be ecstatic or angry with you and Jarod. On the one hand, you were reckless to take such a chance, and to come back here when you knew..." He sighed and didn't finish the rebuke, knowing she would be way ahead of him. "But on the other hand, it's just too good to be true. My God! You and Jarod, in love. Of all the twists of fate! You couldn't have picked a more dangerous father for your child."

"Exactly, Syd," the blonde agreed calmly. "Parker's got her notions and nothing I've said can convince her otherwise. This isn't Jarod's baby. I was having an affair with one of the interns at the hospital where I worked in Nashville. _He's_ the father. Jarod and I never quite got to make that sort of connection."

The gleam in Sydney's eyes faded somewhat, but his pleasure did not dim. "Well, even if that is true, I'm still excited by the pregnancy. We've never had a Pretender bear a child before. And even though there's always the possibility that your baby may not inherit its parents' gifts, odds are heavily in favor that it will. Your parents were exceptional natural Pretenders, and you exceeded their talent early on. You were always one of my favorites, Athena, and I'm glad to have you back where I can see you every day. I plan to be more regular about my visits, and get you involved in some projects. There's a young boy I'd like you to counsel later on, when you're up to it."

Athena said nothing, smiling lazily and grazing her belly with her fingertips fondly. "I'm glad I'm back, Sydney," she said quietly. "You have no idea how hard it was to live out there, trying to act like everyone else, and going crazy without enough to keep my mind occupied. All those jobs I was doing helped, but it was never enough. God, I was so bored... I wasn't made for the outside world. Even if I couldn't finish most of the simulations I was assigned before, I was still better at that than I was at anything else I did. Maybe the reason I failed had something to do with how old I was when I came to the Centre. I'd already learned too much about the world, and formed a secure emotional base with my mother. Jarod was only four when he came here. I was ten."

"And then you also had your mother's death to deal with, and meeting your father for the first time," Sydney agreed. "I knew you'd be good at assuming the different mantles, but I just didn't realize at first how deeply you'd ingrain them into your personality. You're actually a step up on the evolutionary scale from Jarod."

She shook her head in disagreement. "He's something different altogether, Syd." Looking out the window, she grew pensive for a moment. "He's an empath of the first water. He can not only wear your shoes, he can feel your heart beating in his chest. He _becomes_ other people so easily, so completely. But he can cast them off just as easily because he doesn't know who Jarod is. Now and then he gets glimpses, which is why he left here, but continuing the simulations in this random fashion, without guidance, he's in danger of losing himself altogether."

"Or of finding himself," Sydney added hopefully. He embraced the young woman lightly, conscious of her delicate state. "Which brings me back to Dylan. He's a bit of a special case, and has fallen into a depression. He doesn't want to work, and I can't seem to get through to him. Would you like to visit with him and see if you can coax him into a lighter mood? You were always the mothering sort, and I think he could use a little of that right now."

"Is he a Pretender?"

Sydney shook his head. "Dylan's a psychic imager. The real thing."

Athena grinned. "Sydney, are you dabbling in the paranormal, now?"

"I'll send an escort for you," he told her, ignoring her question and snuggling her close for a moment, enjoying the old warmth between them. Had he been able to maintain a personal life outside the Centre, he would have kept her with him after she was expelled so many years ago, and hoped for something else to blossom between them. But there was the vast difference in their ages, and the fact that, after her father died, she looked up to him as a replacement. Though he had been her guide and mentor, they had always been friends first, and he had never forgiven Mr. Parker for throwing her out.

"So I'm still going to be managed, eh?" she returned with a frown. "Kept under lock and key like an errant slave? I came here voluntarily, Syd. I'm not going anywhere. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Except to Jarod, wherever he is," the psychiatrist added. "The Tower thinks it best to keep tabs on you for a bit longer, till they're a little more sure of your intentions. And until Miss Parker gets over her jealousy of you."

"Parker? Jealous of me?" squeaked Athena, stunned by the comment. "Whatever for? She's got her place in life nailed to the floor."

Sydney cocked his head and studied the woman in his embrace knowingly. "Because of Jarod."

Athena's brows twitched together in confusion. "Don't tell me she's got a thing for him?"

Chuckling, Sydney eased away from her slowly. "Of a sort, but it isn't something I'd ever attempt to categorize. You certainly couldn't call it love, but then hate doesn't quite fit either. Whatever it is, though, I think Jarod understands it perfectly. He plays her like a virtuoso." More softly, under his breath as he turned away, he added, "And me, too, at times."

She touched his sleeve entreatingly. "He's been out in the world for long enough now that he'll never function properly for the Centre again, Syd," Athena confided. "Even if you do get him back again, he'll be worthless, even worse than I was. And I think you know that. He isn't the innocent he was. He's found his purpose, and he'll never be swayed from it. Forcing him back into the role he fulfilled before would kill him or drive him insane. Don't do that to him. Please. Just let him go."

"As long as the Tower wants him back, the hunt will go on," Sydney stated unhappily. "None of the rest of us have any say in the matter. And they will never give up. If Miss Parker doesn't catch him, they'll send someone else; not just one, but an army if they must, and one day they'll catch him when he can't run, and they'll bring him home. I pity them when they do."

"Then we agree." Athena smiled warmly. "Pops." When he smiled back she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Do you want to walk me to Dylan's room? I could use a little light motion, and I'm sure he'd like some company. Just don't go too fast. Even breathing makes me nauseous."

"Anyplace else you'd like to go while you're out and about?"

She shrugged. "How about letting me prowl around Jarod's room? You can even stay with me if you like. I promise not to touch anything without permission."

He gave her a sidelong glance, not quite smiling. "You wouldn't be interested in doing a simulation to catch him, would you? I'm sure you'd be successful at it if you tried."

With a wink and a bright laugh, she declined the offer, and began asking him questions about the little boy lost she was on her way to meet, already certain she wanted to be Dylan's friend.

 

Jarod found what he was looking for at John Peter Smith Hospital in Ft. Worth. Researching the doctor was an easy thing, for he was something of a minor celebrity in the city. It didn't take long for Jarod to introduce himself as a member of the staff at another hospital, and strike up a friendship. The physician was exactly what he needed, even had the right incidents in his past that would help sway him to the cause. Jarod cultivated him carefully, expressing the right sentiments and feeling him out about risks and danger. And when he was certain how the man would react, Jarod laid his cards on the table and told him everything.

Dr. Ndele was incredulous, but not disbelieving. He agreed to send his resume to the Centre's query address and sit for an on-line interview via digital camera, and shortly after that he told his new friend that he was certain of the truth in the tale he had been told. As Jarod had warned him would happen, the doctor's life had been investigated in a manner so thorough that it left a sense of violation in its wake. And as the Pretender hoped, the doctor agreed to help rescue his friend. Dr. Ndele had been a political prisoner for several years in his native South Africa, and he sympathized with Athena's plight.

Day by day Jarod became more certain he was mad for planning this scheme, and even though he had done a hundred different simulations to work out the details, every time he imagined walking through those doors and hearing them close behind him, he was seized by panic so fierce he could not plan it out from that point. He had to imagine himself already inside, already with Athena, before he could finish the sim. And he began to be afraid that, when the time came, he might not be able to get her out at all. He couldn't eat or sleep for days, and danced on the edge of sanity while pretending to be calm.

 

"Caller Three, you're on the air," said J.R. Marconi as he cued up the next CD for play.

The voice that broke the silence in the booth had an electronic quality about it, registering several pitches at once, confusing the ear. It sounded neither male nor female, yet somehow both as well, the result of the synthesizer plugged into the line. It was the Secret Confessions hour, and someone special was calling in answer to the challenges issued over the last week by the Night Man.

"I killed Justin Raster," said the voice.

With a note of boredom, Jarod replied, "We've heard that before, John. You're about the tenth caller with this same story. What can you tell me about the case that hasn't been published yet, just so we know you're the real thing?"

After a slight pause, the caller, using the station's pseudonym John, answered slowly. "I know exactly what the boy was wearing."

"That information was broadcast when Justin went missing," Jarod returned. He moved to the window and looked out at the sunset, watching the darkness settle over the cityscape stretching out to the horizon all around him. Something about this caller nudged his attention, and he opened the black briefcase, looking for the evidence list and the photographs that he knew would be in there.

"Just the outerwear," said John. "Green and blue striped T-shirt, dark navy jeans. But he was wearing Biker Mice from Mars underwear and mismatched socks, one dark blue and one black."

Jarod stared at the list without seeing it. He had it committed to memory and knew in an instant that this was either the real killer or someone closely enough connected to the case to have access to privileged information. The contents of the briefcase had not been easy for him to get at all, and he was always very careful about how he liberated such information.

"Okay, you've got my attention," Jarod encouraged. "What do you have to say to us? We all want to know why. Why Justin? Why that particular little boy? But more than that, we want to know how you got away with this for so long."

There was a smile in the voice when it sounded again. "Justin was just there," said the man. "I was driving by and no one was around close enough to read my license plates, so I grabbed him." He cleared his throat.

Jarod closed his eyes, tilted his head back a little and held his right hand close to the side of his face, as if he was holding a telephone handset to his ear. He was imagining, stepping in, tuning in to the killer.

"When I got rid of him, it was raining so hard no one was around," the killer went on. "Nobody was even looking out their windows. I just stopped the truck, got out and tossed him into the ditch. Just like that. And all that water washed away most anything the cops could have used as clues."

"Not everything," Jarod reminded him. "I've spoken to police about this case, and they say there's plenty of evidence to convict. Just nothing that points directly to whoever murdered the boy."

"That's good for me, then."

"Tell me, John, have you kidnapped other children?"

"Oh, yeah. About ten, I guess."

A flash of anger burst in Jarod's chest and his eyes popped open, yet seeing nothing, searching the darkening skyline for a face to go with the voice. "You've hurt, maybe killed that many children and you don't know _exactly?_ Come on. You can do better than that."

"All right, eleven. Eleven kids."

"And did you kill them all?"

Silence for a long moment, and then regretfully, "Yes. I had to. So they couldn't identify me."

Jarod closed his eyes again, leaching the anger out of his voice and replacing it with gentle sympathy. "Did someone abuse you as a child, John? Is that why you do this?"

The caller hesitated to answer. "My old man taught me what it was all about," he answered finally, sadly.

"Your father," Jarod reiterated quietly. As he opened his eyes a single tear rolled down his cheek, but the emotions he was feeling did not color his voice. "And you perpetuate his actions onto other children. Doesn't it bother you that you do these things?"

"Why should it?" the killer snapped, suddenly angry. "Everybody else has sex when they want. Why can't I?"

"Because of the price everybody _else_ pays, John," the Pretender answered. "Let's look at a possibility. Let's say you had resisted the temptation to snatch that beautiful little boy off the street. It's twenty years from now, and you haven't been feeling well. You go to the doctor and he tells you after a series of tests that you have cancer in the advanced stages. You have only a few weeks left to live. Two weeks later, your doctor calls you to let you know that a cure has been found, and in a matter of days there will be a treatment available to save your life. You read about it in the newspaper, and the name of the doctor who made the discovery is Justin Raster." He paused, struggling for control of his emotions. "When you destroy a child, John, you destroy the future. Yours. Mine. Theirs. _Everyone's."_

"Bullsh--"

Jeffrey Adams managed to bleep out the word before it was finished, but Jarod didn't seem to notice. He sat down at the console and tapped the keys on his laptop computer, initiating a trace that even the telephone company would not recognize. "You don't get it, do you, John? Even if you spend the rest of your life without getting caught for what you've done, even if you never spend a day behind bars, you're already in prison. You can't talk about this to anyone, except me, here on the air. You can't allow anyone to get close to you, for fear they might suspect eventually that you're a pedophile. You hide at work, keeping to yourself, shut out of the lives of people you might like to have for friends. You're in jail right now, aren't you, John? And you'll never get out."

"Don't play these psychobabble mind games with me, Night Man," the caller warned. "I ain't turning myself in like all those other idiots you talked into giving up. I'd be dead inside a week if the cops ever got their hands on me."

"As much as I'd like to continue this, we do have to have a station break and hear from our sponsors at this point," Jarod announced. "John, you can either hang up and call back later or wait on hold while we do the ads. Your choice." Jarod glanced at the display, memorized the address, and ended the trace. He moved a white knight on the chessboard in answer to the call.

"I'll call back," the killer promised, and hung up. Jarod moved a black pawn into play, and smiled to himself. The game was afoot at last.

Dirk White, producer for the evening show, punched up the recorded advertisements and waited until he saw J.R. cut off his microphone so the public would not hear before speaking. "Just what the hell was that all about?" Dirk demanded. "He's just another crackpot, Marconi. Some sicko child molester with an axe to grind."

Jarod shook his head, closed his briefcase and locked it. "I have a feeling this was the real thing, Dirk," he replied. "Call it instinct or intuition, but I got a gut feeling about this guy. He'll be calling back. He wants to talk about what he did. He needs to. And I'll be there to listen." He changed Gumby's pose, making the little green guy hang upside down from the microphone, hoping to manipulate a certain caller in the same fashion.

Half an hour later a man in a suit was shown into the booth during another commercial break, and Jarod took quick note of the badge in full display, hanging from the stranger's shirt pocket. Jarod shook his hand familiarly. "How are you, Chief?" he asked casually.

"I thought your voice sounded familiar comin' over the police band," commented Bedford Chief of Police Arliss Houston. "You workin' part time as a dispatcher, too? They don't pay you enough here, son?"

Jarod shrugged. "I don't pay much attention to my salaries," he admitted frankly. "That isn't why I'm doing this."

"You want to explain it to me, then?" The chief squinted at the younger man, pursing his lips and making his thick, graying mustache bristle outward as he waited for answers.

"I want this guy caught," Jarod answered simply. "And I've studied enough psychology, talked with enough experts to think I might be able to draw him out. Just give me a little time. That's all I ask."

Chief Houston crossed his arms over his badge. "Let me put a trace on that phone line of yours," he demanded quietly. "Then maybe we can cut you some slack. Otherwise, I might have to run you in for obstructing justice, or jaywalking or something."

Time was running out and Jarod hit the switch to broadcast a song and gain him another few minutes of the lawman's patience. "I can't let you do that, sir. I've already promised all my callers that the police wouldn't be doing any traces, to get them to call in safety. You can't arrest me for obstruction because I'm not getting in the way of your case. But if you just trust me a little longer, I think I can give you this guy. I'll do everything I can to see that happens. I want him just as badly as you do. Maybe even more."

The policeman studied Jarod's face as he spoke, the intent, angry look in his eyes, the passionate conviction in his voice, and nodded. "Just for a little while," he acquiesced. "But I'll be keeping my eye on you, son. If I were a guessing man, I'd say you got personal reasons for this little crusade of yours, and if that's so, then I oughtta warn you not to take matters into your own hands. If you find this guy, you turn him over to me. Alive and unharmed. We understand each other?"

"We do, Chief," said Jarod. He smiled grimly, shook the man's hand again and turned back to his work.

 

Dr. Albert Hadley glanced across his desk at the young woman, the beatific smile on her face making his heart ache. He had served as chief of the medical staff in the tiny Centre Infirmary for seven years, and while he rarely tended to cases more serious than the 'flu or a cold on a regular basis, he knew how his patients lived and did his very best to help them whenever he could. This would be his first obstetrical case since he came to work at the institution, and he convinced his superiors that a specialist should be handling Athena rather than a general practitioner, even one as well qualified as himself. The candidate he had in mind had come to him through the network, messages passed from person to person directly, and he contacted Dr. Ndele when the Tower gave the go-ahead to feel him out about a temporary position at the Centre.

"We've hired you a doctor all your own," said Dr. Hadley cheerfully to the young woman in the chair on the far side of his desk. "He's an OB/GYN with a secondary specialty in neonatology. I'll handle your daily care, but we'll be bringing Dr. Michael Ndele in to take over your case in a few weeks. We don't want to take any chances with you or the baby."

"Okay," Athena agreed with a shrug. "I'm sure you could have handled routine prenatal care and the delivery of a baby, Doc. But if you insist on a specialist for me, then who am I to argue?"

"Only the best for you, Athena," Dr. Hadley returned solemnly. "Have you thought about what I asked you last time?"    

She nodded, her eyes bright with apprehension and expectation, taking care not to cast any furtive glances about in search of hidden video cameras or listening devices. Both of them were aware that their conversations were probably being monitored and/or videotaped for security purposes, but they managed to talk openly without giving away enough to get them caught, or even noticed. "I would like to get out," she responded thoughtfully. "I could use some fresh air and a walk in the outdoors. It's May, now, isn't it? We aren't allowed any calendars, you know, and it's hard to keep track of the days in Maximum where the sun don't shine. I was wondering how far along I am."

"It's May tenth, as a matter of fact," the doctor answered slowly. "You're about ten weeks and just getting started with the morning sickness. I could give you some medication for that, but there have been some instances of unpleasant side effects with Bendectin, so I'd rather not, for the baby's sake, unless it becomes severe."

"Almost Mother's Day," Athena smiled wistfully to herself.

Dr. Hadley reached across the desk toward her, but stopped short of touching her. "I'll bring you a rose," he promised warmly. "Meantime, we'll be doing a linkup with your new OB in a few minutes, and I'm sure he'll have a lot of questions for you. Just remember to be discreet with your answers."

She nodded and faced the computer with the small digital camera sitting on top of it. With a few keystrokes Dr. Hadley brought the proper program up, waited for the linkup to be approved by Centre watchdogs, and saw the small picture window come alive. Dr. Ndele's brown face all but filled the tiny square, and Athena found herself searching the background for clues to his personality. Behind his head was a bulletin board filled with photographs of the babies he had delivered, along with a few small slips of paper that were difficult to read. But one of them stood out because of its uniqueness: it was a business card die cut in the shape of a mostly rectangular dragon, laser engraved with intricate curves to show the creature's compressed loops, and printed in bold red type on the green paper was "Catherine Kim, Martial Arts Instructor" along with the name and telephone number of a Nashville school.

 _The card had been hers._ She had given it to Jarod, with her home address written on the back of it.

"Hello, Dr. Ndele," she greeted him with a wide smile. Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them hastily away, reminding herself not to alert whomever might be watching. And she was fairly certain that, though she couldn't see him, Jarod was in the room with Dr. Ndele, listening to her voice because he couldn't take the risk of being seen by the camera focused on the obstetrician's face. "I'm so pleased to meet you, and I'm looking forward to seeing you soon, in person."

Athena hoped Jarod would get the message. She had intended that for him.

The interview was fairly routine, mostly medical in nature, and when it was over Dr. Ndele promised that, if he were chosen for the position, he would make a special trip to Delaware to give Athena an initial examination and to run some tests on his own, aside from the ones the Centre had already done. Though her blood chemistries seemed perfectly normal, he understood the nature of her importance and was willing to be exceptionally thorough with her. He made an appointment to see her the following Saturday, wished her well, and terminated the linkup.

Dr. Hadley sighed wearily. It had gone well, but it was only the beginning. He kissed Athena on the forehead and sent her out to her escort with a meaningful silence passing between them.

Late Saturday afternoon, Athena was dressed in a green paper gown and sitting on a gynecological table in the infirmary, dangling her bare feet over the side and humming softly to herself. She sang snatches of a Gaelic lullaby while she waited, and when the door opened she smiled at the tall black man who entered so quietly.

"Hello, Athena," he said, extending his hand to her and giving her a firm, brief handshake. "I'm Dr. Ndele. Pleased to finally meet you in person."

"Are you from South Africa?" she guessed. "I'm usually pretty good with accents."

"Mm-hmm," the doctor replied, and plugged his stethescope into his ears. He checked her heart and lungs, did a quick and impersonal breast exam, then directed her to lie back and place her feet in the stirrups so he could examine her internally.

"Not very talkative, are you?" she asked as she lay staring up at the ceiling.

"No, not much," he answered in his clipped, heavily accented baritone. "You and the baby appear to be fine. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

Athena's face beamed. "Yes, please."

Dr. Ndele activated the appropriate instrument and rubbed the head of the microphone over her lower abdomen, adjusting the angle until a faint, rapid, swishing sound filled the speakers.

"Beautiful," said Athena dreamily. She looked up at the man and saw that his eyes darted about the room, searching for something. He looked afraid.

"Are you all right, doctor?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Quite fine." Dr. Ndele turned away quickly and switched off the machine. "You get dressed now. I come to see you later."

"Thanks, doc," Athena said casually, and eased off the table gently. "Say, is there anything I can do for the nausea? It's pretty severe and constant."

"Crackers, rest and nothing upsetting," he replied succinctly. "I see you later."

He started writing in her chart, dismissing her without a word.

Athena frowned and stepped into the dressing room, wondering if the two of them would ever warm up to each other. But as long as she and the baby got good care, she didn't really mind. The baby was the important thing. She sang softly to herself as the guard escorted her back to her room in Sublevel 5, pleased to have been moved at last to more pleasant quarters.

After the dinner cart had come and gone, Athena perused the shelves of books in her new room, the room that had once belonged to Jarod, and wondered if that had been Sydney's doing. The Visitor Chime went off and she faced the door, expecting her old friend and startled to see her new doctor instead. She greeted him with a handshake and invited him to have a seat with her on the white sectional sofa in the sunken den of the tiny apartment.

"What can I do for you, doctor?" she asked solicitously.

"I come to see your environment," he stated brusquely. "This is quite an interesting place." Gesturing around the room he observed, "No windows. I wonder why they keep you underground. Tight security, eh?"

"It goes along with the nature of the work we do here," she stated flatly. "I thought you'd have been made aware of that before you arrived."

"Yes, yes, national security, I know," Ndele responded impatiently. "But I want to make certain you are comfortable in your surroundings. It took some doing to be permitted to come here." He smiled, reached for her hand, shook it lightly and held it for a moment longer. "Your husband must be very proud. Very proud, indeed."

Athena's eyes filled with tears, and she tried to hold them back, tried to smile her heartbreak away. "Yes," she returned simply. "He's away right now."

"You should be with him," Dr. Ndele suggested emphatically. "You need his emotional support right now when you are so fragile. Hormones, you know. This will pass soon. I shall see you again tomorrow morning. Yes? We have much to do while I am here. Tomorrow I return home to finish up some things there before I return here to see to you full time. Good night, Athena."

He turned to leave, and the Visitor Chime rang again. Sydney strolled in the door, startled to see that Athena had a guest already, and introduced himself to the newcomer. "You come highly recommended, doctor," he said warmly. "I look forward to a close association with you over the next several months."

"Yes. Good." Dr. Ndele edged toward the door. "I see you later."

Sydney stepped with him, blocking his path for a moment. "Have we met?" he asked, trying to remember where he had seen the big African before. There was something eerily familiar about the man.

Ndele peered into Sydney's eyes intently, scratched his bearded double chin and cocked his head in a thoughtful pose. "Have you been to Johannesburg?" he asked.

"Never had the pleasure."

"You look like politician there." Ndele stated, and smiled. "Must not be the same fellow."

"I daresay. Well, it's a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Ndele."

The new doctor gave an acknowledging nod, turned on his heel and left the room.

"Interesting fellow," Sydney commented.

"I'm not at all sure I'm going to like him," Athena said hesitantly. "But I suppose he'll do."

The man and woman sat down to a quiet game of chess and casual conversation which lasted until late in the evening. Athena's smile rarely dimmed, and laughter came easily, cheering Sydney and making him wonder aloud what had gotten into her.

Silver laughter pealed from her lips. "Oh, Pops, if you only knew," she answered brightly. "I've never been happier in my whole life. I think getting pregnant is the one thing I've ever done in my life that was exactly, perfectly right. Despite the nausea."

Sydney cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well, you know that the Tower is going to want the child's education and development to progress along certain lines, Athena."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure they have their little plans for my baby," she told him blithely. "But it's _my_ baby, after all. And more than anything else, babies need a mother's love."

Sydney said nothing, and watched her checkmate his king with hardly any effort on her part. He did not relish what he had to tell her about the Tower's decisions, but there was plenty of time for that. He decided to allow her happiness during this difficult part of the pregnancy, and would not even hint at it again, not for a long time.

Dr. Michael Ndele opened the door to his motel room and stopped on the threshold. He could see a shadow moving in the bathroom, the door standing slightly ajar, and considered whether he might have disturbed a burglar in the midst of ransacking his room, or someone far more dangerous. A flash of light off a mirror in the cracked doorway heightened his apprehension, and he started to back out, readying himself to turn and run for his rented car.

"It's me, Michael," called a familiar voice, and the door opened quickly. Jarod poked his head out with an apologetic smile. "Want to close that door?"

The doctor came in and locked the door behind himself, sighing with relief. "You give me quite a turn, my friend." He set down his black leather medical bag in a chair by the tiny table in the corner and sat down heavily on the bed. "That place is frightening," he commented slowly, remembering his first visit to the Centre earlier in the day. "There is a feeling of always being watched, no matter where you go. One hesitates even to use the facilities when needed."

Jarod nodded as he stepped fully into the small, impersonal bedroom and leaned casually against the wall. "Imagine what it was like for me to grow up in it." He glanced at the floor, trying to compose himself before asking the question foremost on his mind. "Do you think we can do this?"

Dr. Ndele hesitated before answering. "I don't know. But that is no place for a woman to have a baby. I saw your lady, and she is having a hard time with the morning sickness. I fear if she stays there, the atmosphere may cause... complications. She must be rescued, Jarod. We must try."

"I know."

The two men discussed fine points of their plan, preparing for unexpected contingencies, rehearsing the entrance, going over the exit details minutely. Dr. Ndele did not have a keen sense of direction, and leaving the compound on foot would be a little tricky for him. But he assured Jarod not to worry about him, that he would find his way back to where he needed to be, and if not, then Jarod knew what to do.

Provided he made it out, too.

For several hours the men made their preparations, shared a small carry-out dinner, and then prepared to sleep. Dr. Ndele's weariness took him swiftly into his slumbers, but Jarod was unable to even close his eyes. His nearness to the Centre vibrated within him like a claxon, stringing him as tightly as a piano wire. Rather than continuing to try unsuccessfully for sleep, he plugged his computer into the motel phone line and connected to the Web, sending out messages to specific contacts who would pass the word to the Underground. Timing was everything, would be everything to him and his friends.

Night passed slowly, but every minute that ticked away brought him closer to walking in those doors. He barely glimpsed the front of the building the day he left, but the image of that tall blond stone fortress with its arched glass doorway would be etched forever on his memory. By dawn he was drenched in sweat, and several times he had taken his pulse, sure he was about to have a heart attack. He was terrified, but even more determined to see it through. _For Athena's sake._ And for his child's.

It was time. If luck was with them, then they would succeed. If not, then he would find another way to get them out, if it took him 30 more years to do it. He would never give up, no matter what.

Jarod took a deep breath, steadying his hands as he worked with his brushes, applying adhesive to his face. Perspiration ruined the process, and he had to start over again. It took tremendous strength of will for him to control his body's responses to his fear, tremendous belief in himself to allow the calm certainty of his correctness to settle over him. Athena was in that bastion, and she was now nine weeks pregnant. More than anything else he wanted to touch her, and he looked forward to that with tremendous excitement.

 

Dr. Ndele walked into the Centre, signed the electronic register that compared his signature to the previous one, placed his hand on the scanner for a fingerprint check and received his visitor's pass. He strode past the security checkpoint, stopped and snapped his fingers.

"My bag!" he exclaimed. "I've left it in the car."

With apologies to the security guard at the front desk, he promised he would be back in moments with his medical bag. He jogged out to the parking lot in the late May sunshine, opened up the trunk and glanced around to see if any patrols were in sight.

_The security camera aimed at the car suddenly swung wild, arcing toward the sky for a moment. The guard monitoring the device gave the viewing screen a thump and grumbled under his breath. A few taps on the keyboard before him brought the lens back into place, focused on the newcomer retrieving his bag from the car trunk._

Dr. Ndele glanced back at his double, now wearing the name tag he had received moments before, and silently wished his friend success. He crept between the parked cars of other Centre workers, making his way slowly toward the chain-link fence surrounding the parking area, with a pair of wire cutters in his jacket pocket. Once outside the perimeter, he would locate a motorcycle hidden in the distant trees, and be on his way to Wilmington to catch a plane back home.

Jarod walked up the steps, forcing briskness into his gait. He had to keep focused, feel the part, believe he _was_ Dr. Ndele. But when he heard the doors close behind him he flinched, frozen for a heartbeat. He thought of Athena, and pushed himself onward.

 

At ten a.m. the intercom informed Athena that Dr. Ndele would be expecting her within the hour for a full medical history. She dragged herself slowly out of bed, fighting the morning sickness and losing, yet doing her best to comply with the orders she had been given. Wearing fresh green scrubs that were her daily uniform, she brushed out her hair, braided it and pinned it up on top of her head. She decided not to bother with makeup, put on her cushioned slippers and waited for the escort to arrive.

Dr. Ndele sat at a small table in the examination room, checking the contents of a manila folder and shuffling through a set of papers. He barely glanced up when Athena came into the room, but she noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. He coughed and cleared his throat, his voice coming out as a strangled whisper barely sounding like the smooth baritone of the day before. "I want to do another exam, as well," he told her. "Please change in there." He pointed with his Cross pen to the tiny changing room near the door.

With a sigh of defeat, Athena headed for the room, which was little more than a closet with a small bench and a wastebasket. On the bench was a pile of neatly folded clothing and a pair of black shoes, covered with a paper gown. _This was it._ The Underground had made their move, and it was time to go. Her heart began to pound and a lump formed in her throat that she could not swallow down. Either she was going to be free or dead in the next few minutes. She drew the disposable gown off the stack, picked up a short black wig, glanced at the guard's uniform and shoes beneath it, and began to dress. She wished for a mirror, but had enough experience with wigs and makeup to know by feel when she had everything passably straight. The final touch was a false mustache, which she put on with a little of the provided adhesive, hoping she could keep her stomach under control. The smell of the adhesive was nauseating, and made her eyes water.

"Are you ready?" prompted Dr. Ndele from the other side of the door. "Come, come. Don't be shy."

"Ready," she called through the door. She tried turning the handle and pushing, but the door bounced back, meeting resistance on the other side, so she remained inside for a moment, not sure what to do next.

 

Dr. Ndele opened the door a moment later, poked his head inside the changing room and then stepped inside. He made an exasperated noise and exited the closet, strode to the door leading into the hallway, and yanked it open. "Excuse me, sir," he said to the guard. "The lady has fainted, and dead weight is difficult to carry. Can you help me get her out of the changing room and onto the exam table? I'd rather not drop her."

"Sure thing," the guard replied, and followed the doctor into the room.

_In the Security OPS room, someone spilled a splash of soft drink as he crossed the room, and slipped on the wet tile floor. Every head in the room turned to check out their fallen compatriot, but no one left their post at the monitors. Once it was established that the guard was all right, they turned back to their duty, watching other Centre employees go about their daily business. The infirmary was empty, but there were noises coming from the dressing closet, so the guard monitoring that room gave them a few moments to emerge. Someone called her name a minute later, and she glanced up to answer a question, unaware of the exit of two individuals from that room._

Two guards strolled down the long hallway toward the Centre entrance, checked their ID badges at the door and signed out, arguing over where they wanted to eat lunch in Blue Cove. No one paid them any attention until the guard regained consciousness in the dressing room and broke down the jammed changing room door. The surveillance cameras broadcast images of the large African American man in his underwear to the observation room, and alarms were set off immediately. Every inch of every building was searched, but neither Athena Morgan nor Dr. Michael Ndele were anywhere to be found. The only thing they left behind was an origami crane, sitting on the folder where Athena's medical records from her previous tenure at the Centre had been kept.

 

The car slowed to a stop, obeying the flashing red light at the intersection, and Athena leaned over and pulled the stranger toward her. She gave him a quick kiss and giggled. "Oh, my God, those aren't your real lips!" she exclaimed. "Who are you, anyway, my guardian angel?"

"I must have done a better job than I thought," said the man, his accent suddenly vanished. He watched her eyes grow wide, her hand come up to cover her mouth in surprise.

"Jarod? Is that you in there?"

He smiled, revealing a familiar dimple. "In the flesh and latex!" he answered happily. "But we have a long way to go till we're home free. Why don't you drive while I change identity?"

She scooted onto the driver's seat when he got out and ran around the car, getting into the passenger's side. He began peeling off the false face, leaving frayed ribbons of latex adhesive around his eyes, nose, hairline and mouth where he had glued the wig and appliances on. Tossing them into the bag he retrieved from the back seat of the rented car, he pulled out tissues and cold cream and began to remove the dark brown base that had so skillfully blended the pieces to his own face for a seamless, genuine appearance. He tackled his hands then and found it difficult to get all the makeup out of the creases on the backs of his fingers, but persistence paid off and eventually he was free of any trace of the disguise except for the stolen uniform he wore. He directed her to pull over at a roadside bathroom, where each of them changed out of the uniforms and dressed in the civilian clothes he had brought with him.

"You're crazy, you know that," Athena said later. A cheap hotel in Wilmington gave them a place to rest and eat a take-out meal before the next leg of their trip to elsewhere. "Daniel in the lion's den. That was foolish of you to take such a chance for me. I was going to escape on my own, Jarod. Mrs. Parker's Underground was helping me get it set up."

"I couldn't have done this all by myself," he said, pulling her into his lap after she set the food cartons in the wastebasket by the bed. "They helped out with the uniform and a little distraction at the proper moments." He ran his hands over her body, gazing at the potent promise of her flat belly. "I _had_ to come, Athena. I couldn't let them do to our baby what they did to us."

"I know, Jarod. They would have taken it away from me as soon as it was born, and I would never have seen it again." Sydney hadn't had to tell her what the Tower decided. She already knew that the paternity results would cinch the child's fate. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she pressed her face against his neck, inhaling the clean scent of soap on his skin, which he used to wash away the residue of cleansers, adhesive and makeup as soon as they checked into their hideaway. "I love you, Jarod," she whispered painfully.

He wanted to rush, to tear her clothes off and climb inside her and disappear, but instead he was slow and gentle, taking great care not to jostle her, his awareness of her responses finely tuned to react to her delicate condition. She was trembling, and he held her, laid her down on the bed and stretched out his tall frame beside her. Even his kisses were hesitant, controlled, excessively soft.

"I won't break, darling," she reminded him with a smile.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

 

Darkness covered the quaint little country inn and Jarod gazed up at the stars sparkling coldly overhead. It was warm, and Athena's hand in his was warmer still. They strolled barefoot on the neatly clipped lawn in the back yard, sated and happy, dreaming out loud.

"Jarod, for a boy," Athena said lightly.

He shook his dark head. "No. Justin. Justin Morgan."

"Not Russell?" she asked, glancing up at his shadowed face, lit by the yellow bulb on the inn's back porch.

"Russell isn't really my name," he answered slowly. "I don't know who I am, or where I'm from. You know your history."

"Well, if we're going back to the truth of our roots, then it should be Justin Demara," she corrected gently. "My father never even knew my mother was pregnant when he left, or he would have married her and done his best to stay with her. He was a devout Catholic, after all. He told me as much when I met him at the Centre, three months before he died."

Jarod was silent for a moment, pensive. "You seem to have a strong faith, too, Athena. I've often wondered since we met where that came from."

"My mother," she smiled. "She wanted to be a nun since she was a little girl, but ended up being a hundred other things instead. She was a natural Pretender, too, Jarod. In fact, she sent me to the Centre when I was ten, shortly after she found out she was dying of cancer."

"Did she know your father was there?"

"Yes. She thought she was sending me to him."

He stopped walking and pulled her into his arms, needing to hold her again, to feel her arms around his back, her hands stroking him through his clothes. "She didn't know, then."

"No. But I was too old for the Centre to use, too street-wise for them to brainwash completely. I never forgot who I was, and somehow, I always felt that God was with me, that I was protected from anything they did to me." She snuggled her face against his throat, memorizing the scent of his skin, the warm, pleasantly musky smell that was distinctly Jarod's. "I like to think I was right. How about Justin Michael Demara? Michael is the archangel who watches over policemen and warriors."

Jarod grinned. "I used to be Michael Ndele for a couple of hours," he reminded her. "That would be good. But what if it's a girl?"

Her blue eyes sparkled in the semidarkness as she gazed up at him, glowing from within. "How about Rose?"

"From the look on your face, I'd say there's a particular significance to the name," he mused. "Your mother's?"

She nodded beneath his chin. "I wish we knew your mother's name. I had people looking for background on you, but they seem to have wiped your slate clean."

He sighed, leaning on her lightly, wrapping his arms about her and squeezing just a little. "I'll find out one day, Athena," he promised. "And when I do discover what my name is, I'd like you to share it with me. If you want to."

Tears caught in her throat and she struggled not to let them out. She wanted to hug him, but the nausea was rising again and she backed hastily away, out of his embrace, breathing in deep and slow to fight the sickness down. He hovered over her concernedly, but she turned away again, bending over slightly and bracing herself with hands on thighs, just in case.

"Oh, Jarod," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That could be a very long time."

"We don't have to wait that long to get married," he corrected warmly. "We could go to Vegas and do it as soon as we get there."

Staring at the moonlit grass, she decided it was a good thing that she couldn't see his face, which she knew from the tone of his voice would be filled with boyish enthusiasm. She smiled, and a tear spilled onto the ground between her feet. "My beloved. My beautiful Jarod. If I were a selfish person, I'd say yes and go pack our bags," she said softly. "But you have a lot of growing up to do before you take that step. I'm the first woman in your life, the first person who really understands where you've come from, but there's so much you don't know yet. I can't marry you, darling. At least not for quite a while. Ask me again in a year or two. I know you learn fast, but you have decades of living to catch up on, and you can't do it if you're locked in a relationship you can't escape."

She straightened up slowly, steeling herself to meet his eyes, and the hurt she knew would be there.

He was looking at the sky, his throat working as if he couldn't swallow something. After a moment he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and spoke softly. "You're right. But I don't think my feelings for you will change. I was ready to die to save you, ready to spend another 30 years trapped in that place if I failed. I wouldn't have done that for anyone else." He cleared his throat, and a tear slid from the corner of his eye down his cheek. "I know that I love you, and that I want to be a father to our baby. But that'll take a lifetime of learning, day by day. Will you let me do that?"

Athena felt the few feet between their bodies stretching into an endless chasm, and ached to span it with her love. But he needed space to grow in, and he couldn't do that with her. He was as much little boy as he was a man, perhaps even more, and he would need his freedom.

"Can you tell me there is anyplace in the world where we could be together, and be safe, Jarod?" she asked gently. "If there is, I'll go there with you."

He turned hurt, dangerously angry eyes on her and said gruffly, "Not as long as the Centre exists." A deep, slow, painful breath inflated his chest. "I can't stay with you, can I?"

She shook her head. "But that doesn't mean we can't be together some of the time. Moments like this, here and there. We could make it work, if we're careful."

Hope did not shine in his face at her suggestion. "The important thing is to find a safe place for you to have the baby, a place where the hunters will never look for you."

"I have some ideas," she offered. The nausea was rising, and a chill settled over her, making her hug herself and rub her arms to get warm in the summer night.

Jarod took her in his arms and held her tightly, fighting back the sob that struggled to break free of his shattered heart. "So do I," he whispered when it passed. Bitter acceptance weighed him down, but he would not let it break him. He lifted her gently in his arms and carried her back into the inn, up to their room, and made love to her in a patch of moonlight silvering the sheets of their borrowed bed.

 

The Night Man strode into the studio purposefully on Monday evening. Rather than play the scheduled songs for the evening he wove a tale of murder, betrayal and deceit punctuated by the scheduled advertising clips. The phone lines stayed lit up, but he took no calls until the last hour of the program. That was when he asked for Justin Raster's killer to call in once more.

They talked for ten minutes without a commercial break and Jarod treated the man with kid gloves, enticing him to give out seemingly insignificant details about himself, all the while building a stronger case for the police to use when he was ready to turn it over to them. The trace he sent out gave him a completely different address than the previous one, but on Tuesday night it was the same as Monday's. Jarod drove by that address during the early evening Wednesday, and there in the driveway was a pickup truck similar to the one seen in the vicinity of Justin's abduction, painted a medium blue rather than black. He took a photograph of the vehicle including close-ups of the license plates, and returned to the apartment where Athena waited for him.

He did not tell her about his mission, nor did she ask, but Wednesday night when he came home she was listening to the radio, on station KARW, Classic Rock, and he was certain she'd heard his program, including the lengthy interview with a murderer who seemed to be both enemy and friend.

Thursday night he met with the program director once more, for a brief, unpleasant few minutes. The ratings were great and the station was controversial, but Ms. Moody wanted to post his photograph in the media, wanted him to start making personal appearances, and he flatly refused. She wanted reasons and he gave her none, so she gave him one week to think about it. After that, she told him, he would not have a job.

 

"So there really is a Dr. Michael Ndele?" Sydney asked Miss Parker as they exited the car at the Wilmington airport. "Somehow that surprises me. Jarod usually invents his own identities rather than stealing someone else's."

"How else was he going to pass the background checks we give our applicants?" she reminded him harshly. "The Centre even checks out employees' grandmothers before they hire. Ndele had a stellar record, high on the list of internationally respected physicians in his field, as well as being an active researcher. He was the perfect candidate for a new obstetrical and neonatal practice for us. He answered the headhunter's query just like a dozen other doctors did, and was chosen as the best candidate for the job."

"And Jarod put him up to it. But how did he know Athena was pregnant? And how did he know we would be looking for an obstetrician for her?"

Parker fixed him with an icy glare and blew smoke in his face. "Come on, Sydney. He's a big boy now. He's known about the birds and the bees for quite a while."

Sydney grinned. "You've been waiting for that for a long time, haven't you, Miss Parker? Too bad he picked someone else to develop his expertise with in that exciting new field, eh?"

She smiled coldly. "Who says he's an expert yet?"

He shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. "Still, I'm amazed by the method Jarod used for this escapade. I'd never have guessed that was him. Even the accent was good, though there were differences in the timbre of his voice and the good doctor's that I might've recognized, had I been there."

No one had imagined Jarod would willingly set foot within the Centre's walls for any reason. They all expected to entice him to give himself up to the lure of his lover's presence in his life, though they would not have allowed it to continue. But Jarod was the only one who could have pulled off such an easy escape, one that had left them all reeling and embarrassed by its simplicity.

"Looks like our boy has a new skill up his sleeve," Parker mused blandly. "Though I doubt he'll use it very much. Latex is a pain in the ass to wear for a day's worth of work, not to mention the hours of preparation time beforehand. He's too inclined to action to have the patience for all that on a regular basis."

"Jarod is made of patience, Miss Parker. But it's something we should be aware of, regardless." Sydney glanced at the airplane ticket she handed him. "We're going to Dallas, Texas?"

"Fort Worth, actually," Parker returned. "To visit with the real Dr. Ndele and see if we can persuade him to tell us where the boy wonder is now."

"Jarod won't be there," Sydney told her. "He's already gotten what he went there for."

"That's certainly what he's expecting us to think, isn't it?" she asked without interest. Then she smiled.

Sydney shivered in the warm May sunshine.

"But then, he'll have to move a little slower with Athena getting sick all the time, now won't he?"

The two exchanged a long, meaningful stare, then turned at the same moment to board the airplane that would take them south to Texas.

 

Jarod slid the photographs into an envelope and closed the clasp, placing them into the briefcase with all the other evidence he had amassed. Several days' worth of surveillance on Peter Mark Bronson helped Jarod determine that he had missed work on the days Justin Raster had been held captive, and a surreptitious inspection of Bronson's home when he was out revealed hair and blood traces in a closet fitted with a deadbolt lock, which Jarod was sure would match Justin's and possibly solve a few other pending cases for the police as well. With the other evidence collected from the child's body and the area where he had been found, there was more than enough to convict. All that remained was doling out a little sauce for the goose, and telling the police where to find Bronson when it was over.

The Night Man spent the afternoon in the studio preparing for his show that night, and then drove out to Bedford to finalize his mission. He wore the uniform of a cable repairman when he knocked on Bronson's door and was let in without question, since the cable was, indeed, out. Bronson was in the midst of preparing his bachelor's dinner, setting out a plate of boxed chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, heavily buttered biscuits and coleslaw. Bronson ignored Jarod as he fiddled with the cable box, pretending that he was switching an old one for a new one. But he kept interrupting the man at his meal, until he managed to get into a position where he could give the man a quick injection of sodium pentethol.

Bronson reacted immediately with a swing at Jarod's head, but he was expecting it and ducked out of the way. Every time the man came at him he dodged or backpedaled or sidestepped in the way Athena had taught him, making Bronson expend a great deal of energy on the offensive, trying to land a blow, while Jarod kept just out of his reach. Once the drug took effect Bronson stumbled and couldn't keep his feet, and Jarod warily helped him to the sofa in the living room. He handcuffed Bronson's hands behind him and hobbled his feet with a length of rope to keep him stationary. From his repairman's case he withdrew a video camera, plugged it in and sat down across from his victim on the coffee table.

The interview was face to face this time, and Bronson recognized Jarod's voice when he told him he was the Night Man. Under the influence of the powerful truth serum, Bronson fell into the pattern of openness he had developed in his nightly conversations with the DJ, only this time revealing every detail of the young boy's terrifying ordeal without the slightest hesitation. He pointed out the closet where he kept Justin imprisoned, gave details that no one could have known except the killer himself. And when he had answered all of the Night Man's questions, Jarod turned off the camera, handcuffed the man to his bed and left the premises, making sure the front door stood wide open to the night. In the front yard he staked a sign that read, _I killed Justin Raster_ , and left the briefcase open beside it.

"Well, that was a complete waste of time," said Sydney as they left the hospital in their rented car, Miss Parker behind the wheel. "This time he didn't work there, so we don't even have as much as an address to check. And Dr. Ndele left yesterday for parts unknown."

"But they had seen him," she reminded him. "He was a regular presence there. So he could still be hanging around in the area."

"That's not his pattern, Parker. He's long gone."

"I don't think so."

Sydney smiled at her. "Do I detect a spot of feminine intuition oozing out of that stainless steel intellect, Parker?" he queried bemusedly.

"Blow it out your ass, Syd!" she retorted. "He has reason to deviate from the norm. He's got someone else to look after now."

He chuckled softly to himself and said nothing further. But rather than appreciate the city lights in the frosty silence of the car as they drove back to their hotel, he decided to switch on the car radio. A country western done-me-wrong song twanged into the quiet, and he pushed the buttons for another station, searching for something classical or an opera.

 _"This is the Night Man, coming to you from station KARW, classic rock in the DFW Metroplex,"_ intoned a familiar baritone voice tinged with a smile.

Parker swerved out of her lane and onto the shoulder of Interstate 30, grabbed the volume and turned it up just to make sure what she had heard.

"In just a moment we'll be doing the Minute Mysteries, so put your thinking caps on -- whatever those are -- and get ready for a good one. Right now, we're going to hear a classic from Jackson Browne, one of my personal favorites, and one that says a lot about me, if you listen just right to the words. It's called _The Pretender_ and it's by request from Peter Mark Bronson in Bedford."

She pulled out her cellular phone, dialed Information for the radio station's address, and within minutes she and Sydney were on their way to the Las Colinas radio station.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go in there, ma'am," said the security guard as he laid a hand on Miss Parker's shoulder outside the broadcasting booth. "They're on the air now." He pointed at the glowing red sign just above the door, but Parker would not be deterred.

With a glance over her shoulder at her companion, she barked, "Sit on him, Sydney," and shoved past the uniformed, overweight guard, yanking the door wide open. The tall, dark-haired man sitting at the console turned to face her quickly, and she could see instantly that it was not the one she expected. A glance at the console revealed a pre-recorded tape playing under the producer's watchful eye, and she sighed, irritated that Jarod had beaten her to the punch yet again.

 _"This is the Night Man, coming to you from the heart of north Texas,"_ said the voice on the tape. _"And this will be my final broadcast in this lovely place. Urgent family business calls me elsewhere, but you can be sure that, if I ever get the chance to come this way again, there won't be any hesitation on my part. You've treated me with kindness and respect, something I can't say has been much of a staple in my life, and I appreciate it deeply. In closing, I admonish all of you to treat each other with care. You never know when you might be stepping on an asp or kissing an angel in disguise."_

The tape laughed happily, and the redhead turned to walk out of the booth, fuming.

"Oh, and I'd like to dedicate these last three songs to some special people in my life," said Jarod's voice. "Number one is for Sydney, number two for Miss Parker, and number three for my lady. So long, y'all."

Miss Parker closed the door quietly, listening to the broadcast playing over the station intercom outside the booth.

The first song up was _You'll See_ , by Madonna.

The second was _Cold As Ice_ , by Foreigner. Miss Parker strode out of the studio with her chin up and frost forming in her wake. Sydney followed obediently, catching the first few notes of the intro to Chris DeBerg's romantic tune, _Lady in Red_ for Athena, and in his mind's eye he could see the two of them dancing somewhere. Part of him wished them happiness, but he knew it would not last. Not as long as the Centre existed, for they would never give up the hunt for him. After Jarod's daring rescue of Athena, it had become a point of honor.

 

**_Hudspeth County, Texas_ **

Her pale skin glistened with perspiration in the brightness of the noonday sun. She moaned as he plunged deeper, rocked her hips back toward him and felt the rush of pleasure devouring her consciousness. He knelt behind her, his hands caressing her back and buttocks, and suddenly he was pulling her upright, taking her weight off her hands and knees and easing her into a sitting position on his lap, her back pressed against his chest.

"I want this more than anything," he whispered against her ear. Gently he stroked stray tendrils of her hair away from her face, his hands trembling, his heart breaking.

"God, how I'll miss you," she sniffed. A tear ran silently down her cheek, and she felt his fingertips brush it away. "Even if it's only for a little while."

"The Centre will never look for you here," he promised. "I've never gone back to any place twice, and I never will again. By the time they realize you aren't traveling with me, you'll be recovered from the birth and able to leave quickly when you need." He felt her muscles clench around him and groaned with pleasure and pain. "I'll write you and tell you where to meet me next."

Athena shuddered, reveling in the feel of his hands as they closed over her breasts, pulling her closer still. The short, curly hair on his chest was rough against her back and their skin was so hot it seemed as if they were melting together. "How long should I wait for you?" she asked him breathlessly. "How will I know if they've caught you?" Bittersweet pain seared her soul, an agony imbued with impossible joy and selfless love. She understood the road that lay ahead of them both, and knew what it would take to survive. Staying together was dangerous, but when they parted there was always the chance that they would never see each other again.

He lifted her off him, turned her around and held her by the shoulders, his eyes riveted to hers. "They won't catch me, Athena," he swore passionately. She laid her fingers over his lips and lay down on the blanket they had brought outside the tiny trailer and spread out on the hard-packed, dry ground. With a look she drew him over her, invited him back into the halo of pleasure they had been sharing, and he could not resist. He wedged himself solidly between her legs, bearing his weight on knees and elbows to keep from putting too much pressure on her queasy stomach, and studied her beautiful face, memorizing every curve, every shade of color in her skin.

"I have everything I need, right here in my heart, Jarod," she whispered. "Because of you, I can go on now. I can make it." Her voice was trembling with passion and heartbreak. "I love you, Jarod. I will always love you. Be careful, beloved."

He slipped his arms beneath her and held her for a moment, trying to think of something to say to her, some words that would show her how devoutly he loved her, but there were none.

She could see the struggle in his soul, the love and desire that warred within him and tore at his heart. "It's all right, Jarod," she assured him gently. "We'll be fine." Her lips stroked gently across his, and suddenly there was no more regret. What they were doing was necessary for both of them, necessary for their future. It was the only path that lay open to them, and she would not let the Centre rob her of what happiness they might find.

"Don't let them win," she told Jarod when he came up for air. "Don't let those monsters steal our lives from us! Maybe we can't put down roots and have friendships that last for 50 years. Maybe we'll have to live a hundred lives before we're done, but let's make them full ones, darling. If Life gives you presents, open them with joy. Play to win. For me. _For us._ Promise me, Jarod! _Promise me."_

She saw it in his eyes, the fire of belief and agreement burning brightly. He began to move, pushing up on his hands to see her face as he thrust into her. Passion flared hotly under the blinding sun, and she arched up to meet him, crying out as ecstasy commanded her voice.

"I promise," he groaned, collapsing on top of her. "I love you, Athena. I love you so much it hurts."

"I know." She smiled up at him through her tears. "And isn't it beautiful?"

 

The old man strolled slowly from his ancient pickup truck toward his trailer, listening. He heard laughter followed by light conversation, and decided it would be safe to enter. He didn't like knocking on his own door, even if it was good manners, so he pulled on the handle and opened the wood framed screen door and stepped up inside his home.

"Ernie! You're back," Athena greeted him warmly, getting up from Jarod's lap to walk the two steps to where the old man stood. "We missed you."

"I doubt that," Ernie Two Feathers replied dryly. "But I got everything done that you asked for, Jarod. The phone company will be out here tomorrow or the next day to install a line for Athena's modem, and that new trailer you bought will be delivered next week. Should be plenty of room for the three of us. I sure wish you could stay, too. You're a handy fella to have around. Pretty sure there's nothing you can't do." He grinned, showing off pearly white dentures that the young man had made for him... free of charge, too.

Jarod and Athena grinned at each other. She sat down on Jarod's lap again and gave him a brief, tender kiss and a look that spoke volumes of undying, genuine love.

" _Four_ of us," she said brightly. "Dr. Jarod says I'm having twins." 

 

NEXT: Pandora's Box


End file.
